


Dolor

by sunaddicted



Series: Nygmobblepot Week 2k18 [3]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Complicated Relationships, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Future Fic, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, M/M, Nygmobblepot Week 2018, Penguins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-20
Updated: 2018-03-20
Packaged: 2019-04-04 18:00:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14025630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunaddicted/pseuds/sunaddicted
Summary: With the passing of the years, their relationship had grown only more confusing, the lines as blurred as they had always been: they were enemies, friends, confidants, lovers - they were everything and nothing, startlingly close and impossibly apart.





	Dolor

**Author's Note:**

> No real penguins were harmed for the purpose of this fic (I love those fluffy waddling and awkward birbs, I swear)

_Dolor_

When the Riddler arrived in front of the Lounge, a deep frown blossomed on his face: apparently, he had put his best suit on for nothing; the place was closed - unexpectedly so, especially considering that it was a friday night - if the bouncers turning disappointed people away were anything to go by, their stern faces deeply set into an immovable expression that threatened with a violent removal whoever tried to get past them anyway.  

Well, well - his curiosity was definitely piqued: he had come to the Lounge for a business proposal and was presented with a puzzle to crack open. Delightful.

Ignoring the main entrance - he doubted that Penguin would let him in, if he was turning away customers - the Riddler walked in the shadows, disappearing in the narrow alley that separated the Lounge from one of the classy residential buildings of Diamond District, whose inhabitants probably weren't too thrilled about the fact that they lived in close proximity with the Rogues’ safe haven. They didn't know that the Penguin had rules in place, that to rob someone in Diamond District one had to ask for the King’s permission; it was more a question of keeping his rich neighbours lulled in a false sense of security and keeping the Bat as far away from his business as possible, rather than a matter of territoriality.

With a swift swing of his cane, the Riddler knocked out the lonely and bored guard standing at the back entrance, rolling his eyes at the incompetence as he pushed the door open and let himself in; he had broken in the Lounge enough times to know his way throughout the maze of corridors that surrounded the fraction of the club opened to the public, innards twisted around a gaping hole.

The club was eerily silent. Even during closing hours the Lounge was the epicentre of a flurry of criminal activity, always full of people coming and going, kissing the ring as money and information quickly changed blood-stained hands.  

The Riddler moved quietly, excitement simmering in his veins as the hunger to know what had happened grew beyond measure, filling him to the brim until he started to faintly tremble, ready to spill. He climbed upstairs, chasing the Penguin in his own home - hunting the hunter on his own turf.

But the office was empty.  

Where had the man disappeared to?

He peered at the papers spread out on the Penguin's desk, looking for a clue to solve the current riddle even as his mind took note of anything useful, unwilling to waste a chance to gather intel that could have costed him a lot of money - or worse, a favour - to acquire. Though, nothing suggested an answer to his questions; only the presence of the other man's cane abandoned in a corner of the room and the feather-trimmed coat draped over the couch confirmed that the Penguin was in house and thank God, because the Riddler had started to suspect that the man had retired to the Manor.  

It didn't help much, though: the Lounge was deceptively big and the Riddler didn't have the time to canvass the whole property - he'd have to rely on his intimate knowledge of the other man; he didn't like it, following intuition instead than facts, but he either caved or left the mystery unsolved.

Impossible.

He started wandering downstairs, almost absentmindedly, letting his feet be guided by instinct; he wasn't really surprised when the air became progressively cooler and he crossed his arms, shrinking on himself in an attempt at keeping the warmth huddled close to his torso.  The cold room in which the penguins were kept when they weren't in the main room, happily swimming in their freezing pond, wasn't a part of the club he normally frequented.

As he entered the room, he was greeted by the sight of the man he was looking for sitting on the cold floor; it was bad for his leg, it didn't do any good to his damaged joints “Oswald” he purred, a grin stretching his lips - only for it to deflate when the Penguin looked up at him with tear stained cheeks.  

With the passing of the years, their relationship had grown only more confusing, the lines as blurred as they had always been: they were enemies, friends, confidants, lovers - they were everything and nothing, startlingly close and impossibly apart.

And there were strings attached to his heart, pulling him closer through his ribcage until he was sitting on the floor next to the other man, uncaring of the thin layer of ice that dampened his trousers or the penguins flocking around them, mildly intimidating “Oswald" He drew the man against his chest, one hand going to his hair while the other cupped Oswald's cheek “What has happened?”

Oswald curled into Edward's embrace, trembling against him “B-betty" he sobbed, half-choking on the breath that got trapped in his throat “Betty has died”

Betty was one of Oswald's oldest penguins, a fat little thing that Edward had seen the man cuddle whenever he could - even in public, which Edward had always found terribly adorable. Not that he would ever admit that aloud. The fact was, Oswald loved his penguins as if they were his children and Edward could only imagine how much the other man was suffering “I'm so sorry” he murmured, lips moving against the thin skin of Oswald's temple, the throbbing of a vein steady under his lips “I'm so sorry” the words felt empty, inadequate - but he didn't have anything else to give.  

Edward let Oswald cry for a while longer, tears soaking in the starched collar of his shirt, before he briefly squeezed the man a little tighter in an attempt at getting his attention “Come on, let's get you to bed”

“I don't want to go to the manor” Oswald sniffled.

“I'm not taking you to the manor” Edward reassured, manoeuvring Oswald's body with care until they were both standing up “The couch in your office folds out, doesn't it?” the Penguin definitely worked too much, it was one of the few things all the Rogues could agree on; it wasn't that unusual for Oswald to stay at the Lounge for days, entrenched in his office.

Oswald leaned heavily against Edward's side, taking comfort in the other's presence: he could always count on the other man to be there for him, both in his failures - laughing and grinning - and in his victories - reluctant awe and admiration painted on his features.

Edward was a constant in his life, one that didn't quite make sense but that was nonetheless fundamental.

He knew that he wouldn't be alone that night and it was more than he had dared to hope.

Oswald gritted his teeth through the pain as they climbed up the stairs, both his ankle and his knee sending shocks up his spine and into his brain - pleading him to stop weighing on them before his own body decided to go on a strike and leave him to completely depend on Edward in order to get to his office.

“Here we go"

“Don't..” Oswald bit his lower lip as he left himself fall heavily on a visitor chair, the plush stuffing cradling his aching bones “Don't leave. Please”

“I won't” Edward stated as he bent down to start fiddling with the couch, until he had gotten a bed out of it; it wasn't particularly big, they would be pressed close together once they both snuggled under the soft sheets, but Edward didn't really mind: few things were as intimate as shooting someone in the chest - sharing a bed in order to comfort Oswald didn't quite compare to the bluntness of his bullet tearing through the other man's flesh, blood blooming on his shirt like red carnations “Get in, I'll be just a minute”

He needed to find the camphor oil he knew Oswald kept around for the particularly bad days, knowing that both the scent and its properties would be soothing for the other man. Edward found a small bottle in a corner of the bathroom cabinet, discreetly hiding bottles of painkillers - heavy duty stuff, used to treat chronic pain; Oswald should have taken medication regularly but Edward knew for a fact that he didn't, almost as if he was ashamed by the fact that his body was so permanently damaged.  

Edward went back to the office, shrugging off his jacket as he surveyed Oswald's body curled tightly on itself under the covers “Give me your leg" He encouraged after sitting next to him, shoes unceremoniously kicked under the makeshift bed.

Oswald did so a little warily; with Edward, it was hard being ashamed of his leg after all the times the other man had seen it - massaged it, fingers gliding on the hideously gnarled skin, like in that exact moment “You don't have to"

“I want to”

The silence was as soothing as the scent of camphor pervading the air and when Edward closed his arms around him, his throat vibrating with the notes of a half-hummed melody, Oswald let his eyes slip closed, his heart full of sorrow soaking up the connection with the other man - an unbreakable bond.


End file.
